A pair of Adrienne Vitadini black and white patent-leather high heels, a pair of white leather, knee-high, rinestone-studded rodeo boots and a pair of white satin "birthday cake" heels came back from Houston with B. Also a tangerine Ellen Tracy bag and Stampede jewellry. B has better taste than most women, thanks to his feminine side.
So, I was happy to see him.
Waiting at the airport, I sat at the bar. The bar is always the best place because you can be annonymous and yet approachable in a non-threatening way. A young man entered and asked if the seat next were taken. "No, please," I replied. What a charmer. "I detect a German accent," I said. "Yes, I was born in Calgary, moved back to Germany and then to Edmonton. I have dual citizenship," he explained. He is now studying petrochemical engineering in a German university and hoping to return to Edmonton with his German wife.
"Where are you off to," he asked. "I'm not off anywhere, just waiting for my husband to arrive from Houston," I answered. "My three-week holiday is over," I laughed. "Gee, I wonder if my wife feels that way too when I travel," he returned. Yes, she does, I thought.
Calgary is full of facinating people.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Family
A few snaps from Christmas and B's birthday...........
 |
| Daughter Susanne and Reed |
 |
| I think I need to get my neck done, or else never tilt it! |
B's birthday, he is about to enjoy his annual trifle
Mostly predictable
As we all knew it would, 'Agro' won for best picture because it triumphed Hollywood for freeing the hostages. As if. And of course, Daniel Day-Lewis won for 'Lincoln'. He is peerless. Did you know his father, Cecil, was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1968 to 1972? Happily, Sally Field didn't win because she didn't deserve to. She was a ridiculous Mary Todd Lincoln.
The only other thing I can say about the Oscars is to comment on the mostly-hideous outfits. Except for Charlize Theron. Everyone else was a little dull and "under-the-top" -- especially the accessories and jewellry. Boring. No "Angelina Jolie emerald earrings" this year. I loved them so much I had a pair copied in synthetic emerald, beryl. They are spectacular, if I do say so myself.
The only other thing I can say about the Oscars is to comment on the mostly-hideous outfits. Except for Charlize Theron. Everyone else was a little dull and "under-the-top" -- especially the accessories and jewellry. Boring. No "Angelina Jolie emerald earrings" this year. I loved them so much I had a pair copied in synthetic emerald, beryl. They are spectacular, if I do say so myself.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
More tales from The Raj
""If nanny or mummy were busy, one of the Indian manservants was detailed to look after me, which meant that he would devote the whole of his time to entertaining me. This was simply wonderful because boredom was completely eliminated from my life."
These words were not spoken by B, although they might have been. They are excerpted from the delightful 'Plain Tales from The Raj', a collection of reminiscences by Anglo Indians who were born and spent their early lives there. Reading it, I felt I knew every story because B tells many similar tales from his childhood in Bombay and Mussourie.
In one of the photos we have of B sitting on his pony, he looks very serious and mature. Apparently, children were treated like adults in many ways. "Daily routines were always well established. The children woke early to the sound of crows, had their chota hazri (which B calls breakfast to this day) and took morning exercise. Prams were soon adandoned. Instead you were placed in a saddle which had a ring 'round it so you couldn't fall out and you were led by a syce and taken out for a walk." B's manservant, devoted to him alone, was called "Massichurrin" and he still talks about the fellow.
On both sides, B's Indian roots are deep -- probably going back about 150 years. We have wonderful photos of B's grandfather and great-grandfather in their Irish Hussars' uniforms. On the other side, his great-grandfather was District Commissioner of Allahabad -- sort of like being the premier of Ontario, so vast was the jurisdiction. His grandfather was in the senior ranks of the Bombay Baroda Central railway. Another grandfather was chief of the railway police, one uncle was in the Indian Army, another was a Ghurka and his father was a sea captain in the British Merchant Navy. Who has relatives like that?!
There were no old people in India, death claimed them early. As B says, you would meet someone in the morning and by noon they would be dead. "Life was so very short. When anybody got ill and died -- and lots did -- they were buried the same day. It made the parting so sudden and it made an awful impression upon people. The cemeteries of Calcutta were crowded with the graves of young men, younger women and their even younger offspring, reminders of the fate that could still overtake those who failed to take the proper precautions," reads one passage.
Both B's grandmother and mother were nurses -- a wise profession in disease-ridden India. I always found it odd that B insisted on a very elaborate first-aid kit being assembled every year before our annual vacation at the Quebec cottage. Despite my ridicule, it always came in handy.
When leaving at Partition the book says.........."Most went with a sadness accentuated by tearful farewells from the most trusted of their retinues who accompanied them on their last journey across India, ayahs who had fostered their children, bearers who had stayed with them for a quarter of a century and more."
B remembers his grandfather going out and shooting the dogs and horses so as not to allow them to starve. He also remembers some of the servants weeping and hanging onto the train as they departed.
I keep telling B to record his history. "Yeah, yeah, I will," he responds, but never does.
These words were not spoken by B, although they might have been. They are excerpted from the delightful 'Plain Tales from The Raj', a collection of reminiscences by Anglo Indians who were born and spent their early lives there. Reading it, I felt I knew every story because B tells many similar tales from his childhood in Bombay and Mussourie.
In one of the photos we have of B sitting on his pony, he looks very serious and mature. Apparently, children were treated like adults in many ways. "Daily routines were always well established. The children woke early to the sound of crows, had their chota hazri (which B calls breakfast to this day) and took morning exercise. Prams were soon adandoned. Instead you were placed in a saddle which had a ring 'round it so you couldn't fall out and you were led by a syce and taken out for a walk." B's manservant, devoted to him alone, was called "Massichurrin" and he still talks about the fellow.
On both sides, B's Indian roots are deep -- probably going back about 150 years. We have wonderful photos of B's grandfather and great-grandfather in their Irish Hussars' uniforms. On the other side, his great-grandfather was District Commissioner of Allahabad -- sort of like being the premier of Ontario, so vast was the jurisdiction. His grandfather was in the senior ranks of the Bombay Baroda Central railway. Another grandfather was chief of the railway police, one uncle was in the Indian Army, another was a Ghurka and his father was a sea captain in the British Merchant Navy. Who has relatives like that?!
There were no old people in India, death claimed them early. As B says, you would meet someone in the morning and by noon they would be dead. "Life was so very short. When anybody got ill and died -- and lots did -- they were buried the same day. It made the parting so sudden and it made an awful impression upon people. The cemeteries of Calcutta were crowded with the graves of young men, younger women and their even younger offspring, reminders of the fate that could still overtake those who failed to take the proper precautions," reads one passage.
Both B's grandmother and mother were nurses -- a wise profession in disease-ridden India. I always found it odd that B insisted on a very elaborate first-aid kit being assembled every year before our annual vacation at the Quebec cottage. Despite my ridicule, it always came in handy.
When leaving at Partition the book says.........."Most went with a sadness accentuated by tearful farewells from the most trusted of their retinues who accompanied them on their last journey across India, ayahs who had fostered their children, bearers who had stayed with them for a quarter of a century and more."
B remembers his grandfather going out and shooting the dogs and horses so as not to allow them to starve. He also remembers some of the servants weeping and hanging onto the train as they departed.
I keep telling B to record his history. "Yeah, yeah, I will," he responds, but never does.
Friday, February 22, 2013
The light finally went on!
Of course 'Agro' will win best picture because it depicts (inaccurately) how Hollywood rescued the Iran hostages and these are Hollywood awards being voted on by Hollywood people. I was obtuse thinking 'Lincoln' would win. It won't.
'Argo' will prevail.
But Daniel Day-Lewis will win best actor, hands down.
'Argo' will prevail.
But Daniel Day-Lewis will win best actor, hands down.
More Letters to the Editor
These letters of mine were published in The Calgary Herald in the last month, but I can't seem to find them on-line to post here?....very hit-and-miss. For your edification, here's what's stumbling along in Alberta from my perspective..............
February 9, 2013
February 22, 2013
February 1, 2013
Dear Editor,
Premier Redford summoning “big thinkers” to an economic summit to tell
her what to do about the province’s fiscal mess? Isn’t that what we elect
premiers and governments to do? We don’t need another “conversation”, we need
bold action.
Nancy Marley-Clarke
Premier Redford’s ever-changing strategies and announcements to fix the
province’s fiscal problems remind me of what the White Queen declared in ‘Alice
in Wonderland’...”Why, sometimes I believe six impossible things before
breakfast!”
Nancy Marley-Clarke
February 22, 2013
Dear Editor,
What most people don’t realize, because the schools don’t teach it
anymore, is that any major change to the Senate – such as doing away with it –
would require an amendment to the constitution. That gargantuan task would in
turn require unanimous agreement among all the provinces and territories. And
even with that impossibility, they would have three years to change their
minds. Never going to happen. As to an elected Senate, welcome to complete
gridlock. Just ask our American friends to the south how that’s working for
them.
Nancy Marley-Clarke
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Books I couldn't get through
Don't know how many times I have picked it up over many years, just could not finish ploughing my way through 'Anna Karenina'. Spotting the latest film version available on pay-for-view, I watched it. Kyra Knightly is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful and the costumes were brilliant, but her lover was not well-cast; his baby face and cookie-duster moustache rendered him ridiculous. A woman with the beauty of a Kyra Knightly falling head-over-heels with a fop like that? Would never happen. The role called for a swoon-inducing brand like Pierce Brosnan. Jude Law, however, as the long-suffering husband was very aptly cast.
'War and Peace' is another tome I could not finish. Talk about turgid! And years ago, when I fancied myself a bit of a philosopher, I tried to rototill my brain through Robert Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'. Forget about it. Never did figure out what it was about and anyone who claims they did is a liar.
Also decided to see what all the Canadian fuss was about 'Agro', the Ben Affleck movie about how CIA operative Ben singlehandedly rescues American fugitives during one of the original Iran debacles. Watching it, I got an inkling. Naturally, the Americans fancy themselves the main characters, with Canadian Ambassador Ken Taylor reduced to pouring drinks while wife, Pat, does dishes and smiles wanely. Seriously, they played a much more key role than this vapid portrayal. They had to have, but in true American Hollywood tradition, they were little more than walk-on, bit players.
It was nice, however, to see that the epilogue, credits and a few scenes had been revised to give the Canadian role a boost. Why, they even had a Canadian, Victor Garber, playing Taylor. Folks, if you don't remember how gorgeous Ken Taylor was, trust me, Garber does not do him justice.
'War and Peace' is another tome I could not finish. Talk about turgid! And years ago, when I fancied myself a bit of a philosopher, I tried to rototill my brain through Robert Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'. Forget about it. Never did figure out what it was about and anyone who claims they did is a liar.
Also decided to see what all the Canadian fuss was about 'Agro', the Ben Affleck movie about how CIA operative Ben singlehandedly rescues American fugitives during one of the original Iran debacles. Watching it, I got an inkling. Naturally, the Americans fancy themselves the main characters, with Canadian Ambassador Ken Taylor reduced to pouring drinks while wife, Pat, does dishes and smiles wanely. Seriously, they played a much more key role than this vapid portrayal. They had to have, but in true American Hollywood tradition, they were little more than walk-on, bit players.
It was nice, however, to see that the epilogue, credits and a few scenes had been revised to give the Canadian role a boost. Why, they even had a Canadian, Victor Garber, playing Taylor. Folks, if you don't remember how gorgeous Ken Taylor was, trust me, Garber does not do him justice.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Just got back from the Paliser
With B away, decided to treat myself. Went to The Paliser Hotel for lunch after Mass. I know it's Lent, but anyway..............When you drive up to the door, you simply hand the doorman cash, ask him to park your car and that's that. Done. When I emerged, he promptly retrieved the car and away I went.
The other evening, one of my (younger) friends asked if we could meet for a quick drink at our local watering hole in Crowfoot. OK, I said. Keeping in mind that she is 20 years younger, she doesn't quite know how it works. As we are all aware, I talk to everyone, so up comes a young manager I have chatted with before and, after I ask how his mother, father, brothers and sisters are, he promptly comps my glass of wine. A few minutes later, another manager I know approaches, chats and comps my second glass.
"How do you do that," asks my friend. "You have to talk to people and interview them. No one likes anything better than to talk about themselves," I explained. I was a journalist for many years and know how to "interview" someone. Thanks to my darling late mother, I learned how to "speak to a person", as she used to admonish. Being "shy" was simply not permitted. "Shy" was code for "rude" and my mother and grandmother had absolutely no tolerance for such behaviour.
When we were leaving, I spoke to the bartender and told him it was my friend's birthday..."so you need to comp something for her"......I said. "I'll have to check with the manager," he replied.......the manager being one of the guys I had just spoken to. Sure enough, she was duly comped.
Chatting with the bartender before the request, I asked him if he were in university. "Yes, I am studying biology and blah-blah," he replied. "Oh, so you're going to be a doctor," I concluded. "Yes, I plan to major in genetic research in..........blah-blah," he said. "What the h-ll are you doing that for? That's completely stupid!" I said. He started, looked up and began to laugh uproariously. I guess no one had ever questioned his speciality. The last thing anyone needs is another genetic researcher, I pointed out. Leave the genetics up to God. It's true, we need family doctors, not people in labs.
So, that's night-life in Calgary.
The other evening, one of my (younger) friends asked if we could meet for a quick drink at our local watering hole in Crowfoot. OK, I said. Keeping in mind that she is 20 years younger, she doesn't quite know how it works. As we are all aware, I talk to everyone, so up comes a young manager I have chatted with before and, after I ask how his mother, father, brothers and sisters are, he promptly comps my glass of wine. A few minutes later, another manager I know approaches, chats and comps my second glass.
"How do you do that," asks my friend. "You have to talk to people and interview them. No one likes anything better than to talk about themselves," I explained. I was a journalist for many years and know how to "interview" someone. Thanks to my darling late mother, I learned how to "speak to a person", as she used to admonish. Being "shy" was simply not permitted. "Shy" was code for "rude" and my mother and grandmother had absolutely no tolerance for such behaviour.
When we were leaving, I spoke to the bartender and told him it was my friend's birthday..."so you need to comp something for her"......I said. "I'll have to check with the manager," he replied.......the manager being one of the guys I had just spoken to. Sure enough, she was duly comped.
Chatting with the bartender before the request, I asked him if he were in university. "Yes, I am studying biology and blah-blah," he replied. "Oh, so you're going to be a doctor," I concluded. "Yes, I plan to major in genetic research in..........blah-blah," he said. "What the h-ll are you doing that for? That's completely stupid!" I said. He started, looked up and began to laugh uproariously. I guess no one had ever questioned his speciality. The last thing anyone needs is another genetic researcher, I pointed out. Leave the genetics up to God. It's true, we need family doctors, not people in labs.
So, that's night-life in Calgary.
Friday, February 15, 2013
What a cool guy
"Never heard of him," I replied when B asked if I knew of Whitney Reed. He had just read a piece about him and was determined to obtain a copy of 'Unflappable, The Life and Times of Whitney Reed'. No longer in print, he had to scramble around on EBay and other places to get one. But score one he did.
Whitney Reed was an incomparable tennis player in the 50s and 60s and B knew all about him. In fact, he is the closest B has ever come to having a sort-of idol. Back in the days when professional tennis was actually fun, Reed knew how to have it. As B read, he laughed out loud and often said, "listen to this," as he related one hilarious escapade after another.
"You know, all I ever wanted to be was a tennis bum," B admitted. "I remember back in the late 50s, Whitney Reed came to Montreal for a tournament and just for the sheer love of the game and the heck of it, gathered a bunch of us ball boys and wanna-be's and gave us the clinic of our lives. That's where I learned all my shots," he added. He still deftly unleashes them, much to the consternation of his decades-younger, base-line pounding opponents.
Yesterday, with B still in Houston, I picked up the book. Could not put it down. I learned that Reed was much more than a wild tennis bum. He was top of the heap. Born in 1932 in Oakland, California, he was ranked No. 1 in the US 1961 and always in the top 10. During his career, he had wins over Rod Laver, Roy Emerson, Neale Fraser, Chuck McKinley, Frank Sedgman, Manuel Santana, Gardner Mulloy, Art Larsen and Alex Olmedo -- all enshrined in the International Tennis Hall of Fame.
"Whitney was at his very best when he was still a tad inebriated from the night before and just starting a hangover," says author and long-time friend C.F. Stewart. Apparently, he would start badly -- seeing three balls coming over the net ("when you see three, focus on the middle one") -- get his focus, slide into "the zone" and proceed to cream his opponent. He loved wine, women and song before, (during) and after a match and indulged himself in all three with gusto.
Often carousing until 3 or 4 a.m., he would amble out onto the court and begin to weave his magic. "We will never see a player move about the playing surface and half-volley winners from any spot on the court. No one lobs off of the volley anymore and that was Whitney's signature shot. Players today occasionally hit the ball between their legs while running away from the net; Whitney hit the ball between his legs while running toward the net," says the book.
"The tragedy for those who truly love the game (like B) is that there are no Whitney Reeds on the horizon. There is too much money at stake. Today if a player shows promise, he or she ends up at the Bollettieri Academy with the best facilities known to man.....There is no room for a fun-loving, irreverent, insouciant type of player. It's all about money and computer rankings." I think the last delight might have been Ilie Nastase, who B saw in Bermuda playing Jimmy Connors. At one point, Connors hit a 50-foot lob. Nastase, waiting for the ball, ran into the stands, passionately kissed a woman, ran back onto the court, returned the lob with a smash and won the point.
Tennis was more than a match in those days; it was theatre.
Back in Whitney's day, players would play for beers as well as prize money. One day they would be hanging out with the rich and famous on the Riveria, the next with regular club players in a seedy, local watering hole. It was all about the love of tennis at any level and the drive to win. It was also about talent and Reed had it in spades. The book is filled with tales of him jumping out of bedroom windows, into swimming pools, showing up at Wimbledon having forgotten his racket in the back of a taxi the night before, borrowing tennis clothes because his luggage hadn't shown up..........but all the time the guy won.
Much to my father's chagrin, tennis and I never really clicked. I was a swimmer and you either did one or t'other during a Canadian summer because indoor courts didn't exist. My father and his cronies played well into their eighties and always had fun. In the early days, the club where they played didn't serve alcohol on Sundays, but I remember my Dad putting a couple of beers into his bag to enjoy after a match on a sunny Sunday.
B always was and remains an enthusiastic tennis diehard. One of his greatest fears about moving to Calgary was where to play tennis? He quickly found the 100-year-old Calgary Tennis Club and is now the director of courts and grounds. Well, of course he is; I go for the fun events.
As for Whitney Reed? Wish I had known him. Oh, by the way, he is still going strong, playing senior's and celebrity tournaments at 81.
Whitney Reed was an incomparable tennis player in the 50s and 60s and B knew all about him. In fact, he is the closest B has ever come to having a sort-of idol. Back in the days when professional tennis was actually fun, Reed knew how to have it. As B read, he laughed out loud and often said, "listen to this," as he related one hilarious escapade after another.
"You know, all I ever wanted to be was a tennis bum," B admitted. "I remember back in the late 50s, Whitney Reed came to Montreal for a tournament and just for the sheer love of the game and the heck of it, gathered a bunch of us ball boys and wanna-be's and gave us the clinic of our lives. That's where I learned all my shots," he added. He still deftly unleashes them, much to the consternation of his decades-younger, base-line pounding opponents.
Yesterday, with B still in Houston, I picked up the book. Could not put it down. I learned that Reed was much more than a wild tennis bum. He was top of the heap. Born in 1932 in Oakland, California, he was ranked No. 1 in the US 1961 and always in the top 10. During his career, he had wins over Rod Laver, Roy Emerson, Neale Fraser, Chuck McKinley, Frank Sedgman, Manuel Santana, Gardner Mulloy, Art Larsen and Alex Olmedo -- all enshrined in the International Tennis Hall of Fame.
"Whitney was at his very best when he was still a tad inebriated from the night before and just starting a hangover," says author and long-time friend C.F. Stewart. Apparently, he would start badly -- seeing three balls coming over the net ("when you see three, focus on the middle one") -- get his focus, slide into "the zone" and proceed to cream his opponent. He loved wine, women and song before, (during) and after a match and indulged himself in all three with gusto.
Often carousing until 3 or 4 a.m., he would amble out onto the court and begin to weave his magic. "We will never see a player move about the playing surface and half-volley winners from any spot on the court. No one lobs off of the volley anymore and that was Whitney's signature shot. Players today occasionally hit the ball between their legs while running away from the net; Whitney hit the ball between his legs while running toward the net," says the book.
"The tragedy for those who truly love the game (like B) is that there are no Whitney Reeds on the horizon. There is too much money at stake. Today if a player shows promise, he or she ends up at the Bollettieri Academy with the best facilities known to man.....There is no room for a fun-loving, irreverent, insouciant type of player. It's all about money and computer rankings." I think the last delight might have been Ilie Nastase, who B saw in Bermuda playing Jimmy Connors. At one point, Connors hit a 50-foot lob. Nastase, waiting for the ball, ran into the stands, passionately kissed a woman, ran back onto the court, returned the lob with a smash and won the point.
Tennis was more than a match in those days; it was theatre.
Back in Whitney's day, players would play for beers as well as prize money. One day they would be hanging out with the rich and famous on the Riveria, the next with regular club players in a seedy, local watering hole. It was all about the love of tennis at any level and the drive to win. It was also about talent and Reed had it in spades. The book is filled with tales of him jumping out of bedroom windows, into swimming pools, showing up at Wimbledon having forgotten his racket in the back of a taxi the night before, borrowing tennis clothes because his luggage hadn't shown up..........but all the time the guy won.
Much to my father's chagrin, tennis and I never really clicked. I was a swimmer and you either did one or t'other during a Canadian summer because indoor courts didn't exist. My father and his cronies played well into their eighties and always had fun. In the early days, the club where they played didn't serve alcohol on Sundays, but I remember my Dad putting a couple of beers into his bag to enjoy after a match on a sunny Sunday.
B always was and remains an enthusiastic tennis diehard. One of his greatest fears about moving to Calgary was where to play tennis? He quickly found the 100-year-old Calgary Tennis Club and is now the director of courts and grounds. Well, of course he is; I go for the fun events.
As for Whitney Reed? Wish I had known him. Oh, by the way, he is still going strong, playing senior's and celebrity tournaments at 81.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Ever the romantic
Red roses arrived yesterday from B for Valentine's Day. He has always marked every occasion with flowers, roses, cards.......something romantic. I, on the other hand, am the most unromantic person on the planet. My big beef, waiting for the delivery, was that I had to keep the porch light on until 8 p.m. to be sure I received them.
Pretty bad, I admit, but I have always been like this. I guess you could describe me as loving, but decidedly unaffectionate -- except with my grandson, whom I adore and smother with affection.
Speaking of romance, as a keen observer of human nature, I am both enjoying and being disgusted by a scenario unfolding at the pool a few mornings a week. They are a most odd couple. He is a burly teutonic type in his 60s, with a shaved head and a speedo (always warning signals), while she is a diminutive oriental young lady in her early 20s in a fetching bikini (at this hour, no one wears them in the lanes). Clearly, he is putting the moves on her and it's pretty ghastly. Under the guise of teaching her to swim, he is all over her, smiling, "helping" with her stroke correction, chatting away and generally being overwhelmingly smarmy.
I am sure no one else notices, but I notice everything. Judging by his continued uncuous behaviour, I doubt he has been successful. As I swam by this morning I almost said, "he's putting the moves on you and you are too young and polite to get it," but I refrained. "You know, some guys are like that," he was saying to her as I stopped at the end of the lane pretending to adjust my goggles. Obviously, he was warning her away from menacing wolves in the public thoroughfare.
Some guys are like that?! Buddy, you're one of them!
Pretty bad, I admit, but I have always been like this. I guess you could describe me as loving, but decidedly unaffectionate -- except with my grandson, whom I adore and smother with affection.
Speaking of romance, as a keen observer of human nature, I am both enjoying and being disgusted by a scenario unfolding at the pool a few mornings a week. They are a most odd couple. He is a burly teutonic type in his 60s, with a shaved head and a speedo (always warning signals), while she is a diminutive oriental young lady in her early 20s in a fetching bikini (at this hour, no one wears them in the lanes). Clearly, he is putting the moves on her and it's pretty ghastly. Under the guise of teaching her to swim, he is all over her, smiling, "helping" with her stroke correction, chatting away and generally being overwhelmingly smarmy.
I am sure no one else notices, but I notice everything. Judging by his continued uncuous behaviour, I doubt he has been successful. As I swam by this morning I almost said, "he's putting the moves on you and you are too young and polite to get it," but I refrained. "You know, some guys are like that," he was saying to her as I stopped at the end of the lane pretending to adjust my goggles. Obviously, he was warning her away from menacing wolves in the public thoroughfare.
Some guys are like that?! Buddy, you're one of them!
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Every time he said.............
..."the United States of America", every senator and congressman stood up. The president delivered the State of the Union Address this evening and it shows once again why the US is the greatest nation on earth. Americans have such self-assurance. They are so confident -- even the face of disaster and reality. What me worry?
A fashion note, John Boehner, speaker of the house of representatives, wore an unfortunate blue button-down shirt (??!!) with a pink tie; vp Joe Biden at least wore a white shirt, with mauve tie and Obama sported a white shirt with a blue tie. The latter two looked good. White shirts are de-rigeur.
Nevermind the words out of Obama's mouth, it was the body language of Boehner that spoke volumes. Forget cooperation in the congress, won't happen. Boehner sat on his hands more often than not, so that's the deal. Biden wasn't even listening most of the time. Kept putting his glasses on, taking them off, making notes. But what does he care, he's got a job.
Overall, I was impressed with the rhetoric, but Obama has no power. Too bad.
A fashion note, John Boehner, speaker of the house of representatives, wore an unfortunate blue button-down shirt (??!!) with a pink tie; vp Joe Biden at least wore a white shirt, with mauve tie and Obama sported a white shirt with a blue tie. The latter two looked good. White shirts are de-rigeur.
Nevermind the words out of Obama's mouth, it was the body language of Boehner that spoke volumes. Forget cooperation in the congress, won't happen. Boehner sat on his hands more often than not, so that's the deal. Biden wasn't even listening most of the time. Kept putting his glasses on, taking them off, making notes. But what does he care, he's got a job.
Overall, I was impressed with the rhetoric, but Obama has no power. Too bad.
T'was ever thus
When I earned my frivolous English degree from Carleton 45 years ago it was useless. Oh, it was certainly a good degree and I benefited from it all my career, but it didn't get me a job.
This week's Maclean's Magazine confirms it once again. "Universities are good at imparting knowledge, but though they have career counselling centres, most fail when it comes to teaching students how to get a job," says the tag line.
I used to tell my children to forget about university, unless they went into medicine, law, engineering, architecture..........the professions. An Art's Degree? Forget about it. But I obtained an Art's Degree and luckily a job in the publishing field. How did I get that job? I went for my hundredth interview at a Toronto ad agency ( I think it was J. Walter Thompson), was gruffly turned down and promptly burst out crying. Yep, I admit it, I turned into a "girl". I was starving and desperate and the guy interviewing me became alarmed.
He rushed over, tried to comfort me, invited me to lunch and then called one of the company's clients, which happened to be IBM Canada. "I'd like you to interview this girl, she has potential," he said. A day later, I was hired. Talk about playing the "girl" card! I didn't mean to, but when the waterworks started, it all fell into place. How pathetic.
But I parlayed the IBM job into one at Maclean Hunter and continued to be a writer all my life. When I moved to Ottawa, I got a job as a speech-writer to then Minister of Supply and Services, the late Jean-Pierre Goyer. That morfed into a public service position and I just carried on until I retired.
We never know how our careers will work out. At Revenue Canada, I worked with many people who had started in a TSO or Tax Centre somewhere else. Man, they were all so smart and I paled beside them when it came to technical knowledge. But my writing skills and my English degree have always given me a leg-up. To this day, with this blog, I simply have to write.
This week's Maclean's Magazine confirms it once again. "Universities are good at imparting knowledge, but though they have career counselling centres, most fail when it comes to teaching students how to get a job," says the tag line.
I used to tell my children to forget about university, unless they went into medicine, law, engineering, architecture..........the professions. An Art's Degree? Forget about it. But I obtained an Art's Degree and luckily a job in the publishing field. How did I get that job? I went for my hundredth interview at a Toronto ad agency ( I think it was J. Walter Thompson), was gruffly turned down and promptly burst out crying. Yep, I admit it, I turned into a "girl". I was starving and desperate and the guy interviewing me became alarmed.
He rushed over, tried to comfort me, invited me to lunch and then called one of the company's clients, which happened to be IBM Canada. "I'd like you to interview this girl, she has potential," he said. A day later, I was hired. Talk about playing the "girl" card! I didn't mean to, but when the waterworks started, it all fell into place. How pathetic.
But I parlayed the IBM job into one at Maclean Hunter and continued to be a writer all my life. When I moved to Ottawa, I got a job as a speech-writer to then Minister of Supply and Services, the late Jean-Pierre Goyer. That morfed into a public service position and I just carried on until I retired.
We never know how our careers will work out. At Revenue Canada, I worked with many people who had started in a TSO or Tax Centre somewhere else. Man, they were all so smart and I paled beside them when it came to technical knowledge. But my writing skills and my English degree have always given me a leg-up. To this day, with this blog, I simply have to write.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Anglicans coming over
He may be a great physiotherapist, but Dr. P annoyed me. Started Catholic-bashing, albeit carefully, as he was working on my upper right arm the other day. "I've had a few Catholic girfriends and have gone to church with them, but I always feel bad when I leave," he said. Well, maybe you have things to feel bad about? He also brought up the abuse some priests visited upon the innocent.
I completely agree that the abuse was criminal, but let's not tar all priests with the same brush. Priests are human, with all the failings, weaknesses and evil the rest of us possess. Doctors, lawyers, orthodontists (this I am personally acquainted with), teachers, plumbers, chiropractors, electricians...........you name it, sexual predators are found in all these professions. Do we condemn everyone? Of course not, but for some reason, the Catholic Church and priests are tarred forever.
And it particularly galls me that the people "Catholic-bashing" have no religious affiliation themselves.
So it was heartening to pick up the latest 'Columbia' magazine (put out by the Knights of Columbus, of which B is a member) to read an article about the droves of Anglicans who are joining the Church -- encouraged and welcomed by Pope Benedict.
"The Personal Ordinate of the Chair of St. Peter is part of a bigger movement of Anglicans seeking full communion with Rome, after becoming disillusioned by increasing disunity within the Anglican Communion," the article reads. The pope has encouraged the continuation of "Anglican Use" as a "precious gift and a treasure to be shared". He has also allowed married former Anglican priests to remain married within the Catholic Church.
"When you realize you need to become a Catholic on the day of your ordination in the Episcopal Church, it kind of throws your whole future into question," said Father Matt Venuti, now a Catholic priest in Mobile, Ala. He now leads an Anglican Use mission community.
"I had hoped my 'Roman Fever' would cure itself once I entered real-world ministry, but it didn't," he adds.
Thousands of Anglicans and Episcopalians are joining the Catholic Church for one reason or another. I remember a dinner-table conversation in Houston a couple of years ago with Episcopalians. "Our church is exactly like the Catholic Church," pronounced the wife. "No it isn't," I replied. "The big difference between the Catholic Church and other Christian denominations is that Catholics have 'days of obligation'", I, a convert brought up in the Protestant faith, explained. "We are obliged to do certain things, while you are not."
Again, these were people who didn't set foot in a church criticizing Catholics.
It kills me.
I completely agree that the abuse was criminal, but let's not tar all priests with the same brush. Priests are human, with all the failings, weaknesses and evil the rest of us possess. Doctors, lawyers, orthodontists (this I am personally acquainted with), teachers, plumbers, chiropractors, electricians...........you name it, sexual predators are found in all these professions. Do we condemn everyone? Of course not, but for some reason, the Catholic Church and priests are tarred forever.
And it particularly galls me that the people "Catholic-bashing" have no religious affiliation themselves.
So it was heartening to pick up the latest 'Columbia' magazine (put out by the Knights of Columbus, of which B is a member) to read an article about the droves of Anglicans who are joining the Church -- encouraged and welcomed by Pope Benedict.
"The Personal Ordinate of the Chair of St. Peter is part of a bigger movement of Anglicans seeking full communion with Rome, after becoming disillusioned by increasing disunity within the Anglican Communion," the article reads. The pope has encouraged the continuation of "Anglican Use" as a "precious gift and a treasure to be shared". He has also allowed married former Anglican priests to remain married within the Catholic Church.
"When you realize you need to become a Catholic on the day of your ordination in the Episcopal Church, it kind of throws your whole future into question," said Father Matt Venuti, now a Catholic priest in Mobile, Ala. He now leads an Anglican Use mission community.
"I had hoped my 'Roman Fever' would cure itself once I entered real-world ministry, but it didn't," he adds.
Thousands of Anglicans and Episcopalians are joining the Catholic Church for one reason or another. I remember a dinner-table conversation in Houston a couple of years ago with Episcopalians. "Our church is exactly like the Catholic Church," pronounced the wife. "No it isn't," I replied. "The big difference between the Catholic Church and other Christian denominations is that Catholics have 'days of obligation'", I, a convert brought up in the Protestant faith, explained. "We are obliged to do certain things, while you are not."
Again, these were people who didn't set foot in a church criticizing Catholics.
It kills me.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Ghosts
I finally embraced them all. Having languished patiently in a carton in the back corner of our basement, our ancestors, loved ones and accolades were today unwrapped and installed in places of honour.
I had been meaning to welcome them here for a year-and-a-half, but hadn't got around to it. With B away for three weeks in Houston, I have embarked on several projects, one of which is to give life to all our dearest ghosts. Out they all came:
We don't know what we have accomplished until we look at the framed evidence. It is very comforting to have my predecesors and a few accolades now joining us in our office.
I had been meaning to welcome them here for a year-and-a-half, but hadn't got around to it. With B away for three weeks in Houston, I have embarked on several projects, one of which is to give life to all our dearest ghosts. Out they all came:
- my Dad's chemical engineering degree from McGill, 1923, signed by Sir Authur Currie, WWI General of disputed repute;
- my late brother's degree from Carleton, a brother who commited suicide at 32 because he was homosexual and his lover had decided to marry;
- a $5 passport photo of my mother, taken by Yousef Karsh in the '30s, magnificent (even way back then, in the '30s, Karsh made everyone sign a waiver stipulating that if he didn't like the photo, you didn't get it);
- my 1968 Carleton English degree;
- B's father's Master Mariner's accreditation;
- my grandmother Lillian Stapledon's 1975 congratulatory certificate from The Queen and Bill Davis on her 95th birthday;
- 1966 pictures of B as captain of the London House tennis and squash teams;
- B's degrees from Sir George, Carleton and Concordia;
- tributes to me from my time at 'Expo '86';
- tributes to B from his time in Correctional Services;
- tributes to my mother from The Salvation Army;
- certificates from three Holy Fathers;
- my "Free Trade" certificate from my years on that task force;
- my "Certificate of Appreciation" from my time at Fisheries and Oceans;
- tributes from my time with "PS 2000"; and
We don't know what we have accomplished until we look at the framed evidence. It is very comforting to have my predecesors and a few accolades now joining us in our office.
Alison in Wonderland
The White Queen said, "Why, sometimes I believe six impossible things before breakfast!"
That can also be said about Alberta's blind and deaf premier Redford. With no idea about how to fix the province's fiscal mess, she has begun flailing about -- blaming doctors, teachers and everyone else for the mess the Conservatives have made....Ralph Klein (she has a point there), Ed Stelmach......you name it, they're to blame.
Her latest trick is to have MLAs turn down a scheduled 1.1 percent pay hike, thus saving........wait for it..........$200,000. Wow! In the face of billions in shortfalls, she's going to save us $200,000! A limp gesture which will fool no one -- especially in the face of the whopping 8.1 percent pay hike they voted themselves just last November, not to mention the paid RRSP contribution they upped to $22,331, giving them an annual pay packet of $156,311. Outside of Quebec (well, naturally) they are now the highest-paid MLAs in the country.
"Either she is getting really bad advice, as she continues her relentless doctor-bashing campaign, or she is not listening to good advice," said one Herald columnist this morning. According to an insider I know, she listens to no one.
Her bizarro plan is to run massive deficits and borrow for infrastructure, but put money into the Heritage Fund. This is their "long-term" thinking strategy. Let's hope the "big thinkers" she is convening this weekend will come up with something -- such as a sales tax -- to solve the problem in a hurry. Let's put on our listening-ears "Alice".
Actually, "Alice" may have out-done the White Queen's six impossible things before breakfast.
That can also be said about Alberta's blind and deaf premier Redford. With no idea about how to fix the province's fiscal mess, she has begun flailing about -- blaming doctors, teachers and everyone else for the mess the Conservatives have made....Ralph Klein (she has a point there), Ed Stelmach......you name it, they're to blame.
Her latest trick is to have MLAs turn down a scheduled 1.1 percent pay hike, thus saving........wait for it..........$200,000. Wow! In the face of billions in shortfalls, she's going to save us $200,000! A limp gesture which will fool no one -- especially in the face of the whopping 8.1 percent pay hike they voted themselves just last November, not to mention the paid RRSP contribution they upped to $22,331, giving them an annual pay packet of $156,311. Outside of Quebec (well, naturally) they are now the highest-paid MLAs in the country.
"Either she is getting really bad advice, as she continues her relentless doctor-bashing campaign, or she is not listening to good advice," said one Herald columnist this morning. According to an insider I know, she listens to no one.
Her bizarro plan is to run massive deficits and borrow for infrastructure, but put money into the Heritage Fund. This is their "long-term" thinking strategy. Let's hope the "big thinkers" she is convening this weekend will come up with something -- such as a sales tax -- to solve the problem in a hurry. Let's put on our listening-ears "Alice".
Actually, "Alice" may have out-done the White Queen's six impossible things before breakfast.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Don't 'ya miss Larry?
Larry King used to have a variety of guests. One night it would be Jane Fonda, the next Bill Clinton, the next a vice-president, the next Sharon Stone, the next Judge Judy...you know, variety.
With Piers Morgan, his insupportable replacement, it's gun control, politics, anti-gun lobbies, hysteria and oh yes, gun control. And did I mention politics and gun control? It is such a boring, boring show now. And the guy can't shut up. Asks a question and then gives an opinionated two-minute preamble before he permits (maybe not) the guest to answer, cutting him off if he doesn't like it. As I type, he's in the process of constantly interrupting Dick Morris, former advisor to Clinton, who has a more than a few interesting things to say. Nevermind, Piers talks over him with verve. He gets on a hobby horse and simply can't get off!
Don't start thinking I'm against gun control, of course I'm not. America's gun culture is insane. It's just that there must be something else for Piers to rave on about.
Most evenings I tune in, hoping against hope that he might have someone interesting on. But never. There was a petition to have Morgan deported, stupid idea I know, but I would have supported it. As Larry says, "he talks too much." Amen.
I'm going back to 'Mrs. Doubtfire', a movie of which I never tire.
With Piers Morgan, his insupportable replacement, it's gun control, politics, anti-gun lobbies, hysteria and oh yes, gun control. And did I mention politics and gun control? It is such a boring, boring show now. And the guy can't shut up. Asks a question and then gives an opinionated two-minute preamble before he permits (maybe not) the guest to answer, cutting him off if he doesn't like it. As I type, he's in the process of constantly interrupting Dick Morris, former advisor to Clinton, who has a more than a few interesting things to say. Nevermind, Piers talks over him with verve. He gets on a hobby horse and simply can't get off!
Don't start thinking I'm against gun control, of course I'm not. America's gun culture is insane. It's just that there must be something else for Piers to rave on about.
Most evenings I tune in, hoping against hope that he might have someone interesting on. But never. There was a petition to have Morgan deported, stupid idea I know, but I would have supported it. As Larry says, "he talks too much." Amen.
I'm going back to 'Mrs. Doubtfire', a movie of which I never tire.
Tell us what you really think!
The 'Letters' section of The Calgary Herald always reveals what Albertans really think. Here's s snapshot of how Quebec is perceived:
"Good riddance. Letter writer Edward Bopp seems to feel that the Clarity Act is a formula for the separation of Quebec, as if it's a bad thing. Surely by now it is blindingly obvious that Canada will never have a commonly-shared national vision so long as Quebec is part of it.
"Quebec is a province with takes from others in Canada, and never gives. It refused to sign the Charter in 1982 and since then has suppressed the English language in Quebec while insisting on French services all across the country. It is a province into which Canadian taxpayers pour $8 billion every year in equalization payments despite the fact that Quebec has better services than the provinces that donate that money.
"Quebec is a parasite on the Canadian body politic. If the Clarity Act makes it easy for Quebec to separate and leave Confederation, all to the good. I wish Pauline Marois every success.
"Brian Purdy, Calgary"
So, nothing shy or politically-correct about Mr. Purdy's opinions. And believe me, they are shared widely out here. The only irony is that Alberta is very much like Quebec. Give us all the oil revenues and to h-ll with the rest of Canada.
Oh, and by the way, Albertans hate "Ottawa" as much as Quebeckers.
"Good riddance. Letter writer Edward Bopp seems to feel that the Clarity Act is a formula for the separation of Quebec, as if it's a bad thing. Surely by now it is blindingly obvious that Canada will never have a commonly-shared national vision so long as Quebec is part of it.
"Quebec is a province with takes from others in Canada, and never gives. It refused to sign the Charter in 1982 and since then has suppressed the English language in Quebec while insisting on French services all across the country. It is a province into which Canadian taxpayers pour $8 billion every year in equalization payments despite the fact that Quebec has better services than the provinces that donate that money.
"Quebec is a parasite on the Canadian body politic. If the Clarity Act makes it easy for Quebec to separate and leave Confederation, all to the good. I wish Pauline Marois every success.
"Brian Purdy, Calgary"
So, nothing shy or politically-correct about Mr. Purdy's opinions. And believe me, they are shared widely out here. The only irony is that Alberta is very much like Quebec. Give us all the oil revenues and to h-ll with the rest of Canada.
Oh, and by the way, Albertans hate "Ottawa" as much as Quebeckers.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
How does he know that?
B, usually stuck into a foreign affairs journal or a history book, amazed me when he said, "Doug Williams". I was watching the pre-super bowl hype and there was a feature about the first black QB to start in the super bowl 25 years ago.
"Oh yeah, Doug Williams," said B from the shower, not even having heard the program. How does he know stuff like that and retain it?! This is what I love about super bowl -- all the past greats they interview, the replays of glory days, the hall-of-famers.........that's the good stuff.
I have no idea who's in the super bowl and don't care who wins, but I love the US hype. And it's being held in New Orleans, a beautiful city I have visited twice to stay with our good friends, Betty and Jimmy Noe (Jimmy now gone, lovely, lovely man).
An aside: One of Betty's sons did extensive research on their unusual sir name. He concluded it was German. Knowing their French 'Cajun' background, I said, "I bet your name is French, as in 'Nault', which is pronounced 'Noe'." They were astounded. One tiny benefit of being a bilingual Canadian.
The doyene and grande dame of New Orleans, Betty took me to the annual "Mad Hatters Lunch". Sitting at her table, she held court as all the women paid homage. After introducing me to one woman, she said, "Nancy, that woman I just introduced you to....a killer bitch from Hell." I nearly died laughing because she said it with the most beatific, broad smile on her face.
Another classic: I caught her in her bedroom talking to an open drawer. "What the h-ll are you doing, Betty?" I asked. "I'm talking to Jimmy's hearing aids, maybe then he'll listen to me!" The woman is an original.
Think I'll give her a call.
"Oh yeah, Doug Williams," said B from the shower, not even having heard the program. How does he know stuff like that and retain it?! This is what I love about super bowl -- all the past greats they interview, the replays of glory days, the hall-of-famers.........that's the good stuff.
I have no idea who's in the super bowl and don't care who wins, but I love the US hype. And it's being held in New Orleans, a beautiful city I have visited twice to stay with our good friends, Betty and Jimmy Noe (Jimmy now gone, lovely, lovely man).
An aside: One of Betty's sons did extensive research on their unusual sir name. He concluded it was German. Knowing their French 'Cajun' background, I said, "I bet your name is French, as in 'Nault', which is pronounced 'Noe'." They were astounded. One tiny benefit of being a bilingual Canadian.
The doyene and grande dame of New Orleans, Betty took me to the annual "Mad Hatters Lunch". Sitting at her table, she held court as all the women paid homage. After introducing me to one woman, she said, "Nancy, that woman I just introduced you to....a killer bitch from Hell." I nearly died laughing because she said it with the most beatific, broad smile on her face.
Another classic: I caught her in her bedroom talking to an open drawer. "What the h-ll are you doing, Betty?" I asked. "I'm talking to Jimmy's hearing aids, maybe then he'll listen to me!" The woman is an original.
Think I'll give her a call.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Forget about "The Conversation"
Last time I checked, Alison Redford was the Premier of Alberta. Doesn't that mean she should govern? Guess not. She has no idea about what to do about the upcoming $6 billion deficit in this province. Why? 'Cause Alberta hangs its budget on oil revenues, which have tanked.
Rather than do anything, Redford went on TV and told Albertans to "brace for change". Of course, she didn't say what "change" meant, so we are still in the dark. The latest ruse concoted is to convene a meeting of "big thinkers" from industry and academia to tell her what to do. Oh, and she has also posted a video game on her site asking Albertans to pick an option....more taxes, less cutting, fewer taxes, less spending, keep spending and borrow. Everyone is supposed to peck on the keyboard and pick their favourite.
It is beyond belief that a provincial premier is governing by "Donkey Kong".
Governments can be run by neither the private sector, nor academics. Naturally, Alison is asking them what she should do.
She should have a plan; she has none. She loves "conversations" and polls. How dumb. Her big problem is that she can't impose a sales tax because if she does, she will be thrown out of office. Then The Wildrose will come in and guess what? They will dump the sales tax and we will be back in the same mire in which we find ourselves. Alison knows this and knows she will not get re-elected. So what! Why not do what is right for Alberta? Never.
Albertans are very parochial and provincial. They do not have a "Canadian" vision. It is all about Alberta. They don't get that services have to be paid for by......hello.....something! Relying on oil revenues has been a big mistake. Ralph Klein and his no-sales-tax policy was ruiness.
Alison has to deal with it and she's not. Redford has never run a chip wagon.
Rather than do anything, Redford went on TV and told Albertans to "brace for change". Of course, she didn't say what "change" meant, so we are still in the dark. The latest ruse concoted is to convene a meeting of "big thinkers" from industry and academia to tell her what to do. Oh, and she has also posted a video game on her site asking Albertans to pick an option....more taxes, less cutting, fewer taxes, less spending, keep spending and borrow. Everyone is supposed to peck on the keyboard and pick their favourite.
It is beyond belief that a provincial premier is governing by "Donkey Kong".
Governments can be run by neither the private sector, nor academics. Naturally, Alison is asking them what she should do.
She should have a plan; she has none. She loves "conversations" and polls. How dumb. Her big problem is that she can't impose a sales tax because if she does, she will be thrown out of office. Then The Wildrose will come in and guess what? They will dump the sales tax and we will be back in the same mire in which we find ourselves. Alison knows this and knows she will not get re-elected. So what! Why not do what is right for Alberta? Never.
Albertans are very parochial and provincial. They do not have a "Canadian" vision. It is all about Alberta. They don't get that services have to be paid for by......hello.....something! Relying on oil revenues has been a big mistake. Ralph Klein and his no-sales-tax policy was ruiness.
Alison has to deal with it and she's not. Redford has never run a chip wagon.
This is a doozie!
This was sent to me from a friend and is appalling in what it reveals. Have a read..........and don't call me "racist" for posting; it's all about cultural values. To all my international readers, in spite of what the media report, this is what's really going on in Northern Canadian reserves. (Note: apologies for the grammar, I have copied verbatim):
___________________________________________
"Subject: Report from a Reserve worker
" Mr. Prime Minister, I like many
Canadians, I have some sympathy for the aboriginals who have been boondoggled
by their leaders. The following is an excerpt from a reserve worker and I feel
that those opinions expressed are on the minds of many non-aboriginal
Canadians.
"If we can clean up this mess, then there will probably be lots of dollars to settle their land claims.
"I copied this to Mr. John Duncan and Mr. Guy Lauzon
"Respectfully submitted,
"EXCERPT:
" Year after year! Band administration takes trips across the country,
hell across the world on “aboriginal cultural workshops and healing seminars”,
take cruises, stay at fancy hotels, wine and dine and gamble at casinos every
year. The chief of one aboriginal community actually owns a very large house in
Winnipeg which he lives in and runs band business via skype for chrissakes!
" Did the shit ever hit the fan and I had to get Wpg. provincial justice
dept. head office assistance to get that one through. And they wouldn’t let me back on the reserve
cause I was a woman, white, and racist!. (Well, what about the guy who was
killed and his family!!!! Doesn’t he deserve justice????) Well, in the end the
offended and band counselor went to federal jail and my name was mud!
___________________________________________
"Subject: Report from a Reserve worker
"If we can clean up this mess, then there will probably be lots of dollars to settle their land claims.
"I copied this to Mr. John Duncan and Mr. Guy Lauzon
"Respectfully submitted,
"EXCERPT:
"I worked in every “poor” northern Manitoba reserve as a probation
officer for years and they are ALL THE SAME. Repeat…ALL THE SAME!!!!! And it’s
a local joke!!!! There are more new trucks and cars, skidoos, boats, ATV’s,
Flat screen TV’s, Tech toys, and designer clothes in those reserves BUT they
will not spend a dime of their own money on their house or appliances or
furniture or a broken door or a broken window because “that is the band’s
responsibility” and so they don’t, and they wait for the band to fix it – for
as long as it takes – which never happens, and the house and everything else in
it (except the TV and tech toys) falls apart in squalor. I have seen it
personally!
"Substance abuse treatment center workers all went on an “aboriginal
healing cruise” in the Caribbean from funds that were supposed to pay for
treatment patients. Another bunch flew
to Arizona for an Aboriginal awareness conference (2 weeks) in the desert
(happened to be close to Las Vegas). They all came back saying they had one
Hell of a good time sporting all the turquoise jewelry they bought (also with
band funds). As part of their expense
accounts. And it goes on and on….and if a white person questions any of
that…Yup, you are Racist!!!! Hell, I was racist for recommending sending a man
to jail for stabbing and killing his buddy in a drunken fight over a
girlfriend. This man happened to be a band counselor!!!
"Here is another local joke……lots of the summer forest fires are started
by the locals and referred to as “make work projects”. All the guys in the
community get recruited by provincial natural resources depts. to fight the
fires and get supplied appropriate clothing, boots, hard hats, gloves etc. and
get paid huge dollars (much more than on welfare or seasonal EI.
"The old folks, women and kids get evacuated to the “city” to be put up
for free, they eat out, go shopping, use recreation facilities to entertain
their kids, take cabs all over the city and make a huge mess of the hotel or
rec. complex where they are billeted. They even have the gall to complain about
the food because their food vouchers aren’t enough to eat out at restaurants
where they want to.
"The first week or two go along smoothly and all the natives are enjoying
themselves, but into the third or fourth week, the novelty is wearing off and
they now want to go home. The fire situation hasn’t changed and their community
is still enveloped in smoke but the same people who made such a uproar about
needing to be evacuated for health reasons, now want to return to the community
cause they need to go fishing or something. They have had their summer
vacation, bought everything they wanted to and now want to go home. The
airplanes that took them to the city for evacuation now have to be doubled
because of all the returning “luggage” like cases of Chips and pop,, TV’s, new
clothes and everything else they cared to buy.
"Do you know that the Air Canada Stewardesses and flight crews refused to
use a downtown Wpg. hotel anymore because of the conduct and state left behind
every summer by native evacuees. And they were called racist!!!
"The Thompson Rec. center and Norplex pool incurred literally thousands
of dollars in damages by the evacuees that they refused to billet them any more
unless the federal Government paid the bill for clean-up and damages. Fire or
any other evacuations are seen as vacations. Hell, when I send kids to southern
correctional Facilities, the kids see it as a holiday. They get all their
medical issues taken care of, teeth, eyes, etc., and schooling, and the parents
don’t send any clothes with them, they are given to other family members as
they expect the justice dept. will outfit the kid going to kiddie jail in a
whole new wardrobe to take home with the.
"And they don’t want any Wal-Mart stuff. No, they want fancy label
clothes! Most of these kids are illiterate because they don’t go to the big
fancy schools that have been built for them on the reserve. The band
administrators have the kids attend for the first week of school so the school
qualifies for their per diem Student allowances and then don’t care about what
the kids do after that. By Thanksgiving, of the 30 odd kids that started in a
classroom, less than a dozen are still attending. So the poor native teacher
who complained of being so overworked at the start of the year and needed a
teacher aid, now has 10-12 kids and a teacher aid…that is a ratio of 5/6-1. And
she is never there in the classroom because she is always traveling out of the
community to the city shopping, visiting or whatever because she earns such a
good wage, leaving the unqualified teacher aid to teach the remaining students.
No wonder they have a dismal high school graduating record.
"Hell, the students don’t even get to grade 8. And the kids don’t walk to
school, they are all bussed. They buy huge numbers of busses, drivers, fuel,
maint. people at the start of the school year because all the kids “show up”
(at the insistence of chief and council) and then by October less than half are
still attending so you have all those big expensive busses driving around the
community almost empty. And that doesn’t even begin to look at the waste at the
nursing station where people plan their illnesses and ailments to coincide with
out of town/city amusement fairs, calendar holidays or out of town family
reunions.
"They never follow through with taking medications as directed as
expensive as they are, they don’t look after themselves, diabetes is in
epidemic proportions, alcoholism and drug abuse is rampant. It is not uncommon to see the garbage can
outside the nursing station containing freshly filled prescriptions of pills or
ointments, bandages but the pain killers are usually resold. A lot of northern
community members make their own “home brew” even though it is a dry reserve.
"I had a school in one community where a full 60% of the kids from grades
K-8 were FAS/FAE! If they flew in as much fresh fruit and vegetables as they
did pop and chips and Kentucky chicken, there would be a real difference. In one northern community the nurses reported
that they could always tell when the caribou herds were near the community for
the men to hunt cause they saw such an improvement in the overall health of the
band members from eating fresh wild meat and less junk food.
"I am babbling on….I have NO…repeat NO sympathy for those poor northern
reserves and YES, the responsibility rests at the Band office and don’t let anyone
tell you different. None of them has any
training in band administration, finance or even a high school education.
"I’ve been there/done that! Funny
that the news didn’t show where the chiefs (3) and 14 counselors live!!! Bet it
wasn’t in a shack!
"$34 million a year!"
_________________________________________
Friday, February 1, 2013
Beyond weird
"We thought it was impossible for us to conceive," said the father/mother of a baby born to a transgendered couple in Pennsylvania. Both were on heavy doses of male and female hormones to complete the sex change -- plus the father/mother was getting birth control injections.
This was the documentary I watched in morbid facination last evening. 'Transgendered and Pregnant' followed the couple's creepy and weird journey as the "father" gave birth. It was pretty horrifying. I kept wondering how it had happened??!! Googling the story, I learned that the male "mother" hadn't yet had his "junk" removed while they were having unprotected sex.
The visual in my head of the male "mother" impregnating the female "father" left me literally queasy. I mean, both partners looked like the sex they weren't; male "mother" Emily looked like a woman, but was still a man, while female "father" Cai looked exactly like a man, while still a woman. Talk about jarring.
The crowning touch was when still-male "mom" began to breast feed! He attached a bizarre contraption around his neck filled with formula, which drew the milk into the baby while it suckled. Yikes!
Since the birth, "mom" has had his vitals nicked off, but "dad" has decided to keep her female parts. Abolutely beyond weird.
This was the documentary I watched in morbid facination last evening. 'Transgendered and Pregnant' followed the couple's creepy and weird journey as the "father" gave birth. It was pretty horrifying. I kept wondering how it had happened??!! Googling the story, I learned that the male "mother" hadn't yet had his "junk" removed while they were having unprotected sex.
The visual in my head of the male "mother" impregnating the female "father" left me literally queasy. I mean, both partners looked like the sex they weren't; male "mother" Emily looked like a woman, but was still a man, while female "father" Cai looked exactly like a man, while still a woman. Talk about jarring.
The crowning touch was when still-male "mom" began to breast feed! He attached a bizarre contraption around his neck filled with formula, which drew the milk into the baby while it suckled. Yikes!
Since the birth, "mom" has had his vitals nicked off, but "dad" has decided to keep her female parts. Abolutely beyond weird.
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